


Risk A-verse

by PlinytheYounger



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-15
Updated: 2015-09-15
Packaged: 2018-04-20 23:54:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4807043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlinytheYounger/pseuds/PlinytheYounger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Various (very short) poetic tributes to Victor Hugo's magnum opus.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Day In The Life Of Inspector Javert

Dawn brings the retrieval of the starch,  
the hand-basin and the soft soap.

The squirrels are soaped, the collar starched.  
No other configuration must be attempted.

Unprismatic light shines on the Place du Chatelet;  
unforgiving light on the Madelonettes.

Expenses, observations, transfer papers:  
ink patted and dried with sawdust, patted and dried.

Prudence, Vigilance, Justice and Power  
hold hands under the bright orb of Victory.

The gaol door unlocked. The features of crime  
are stamped already on the girl’s frightened face.

Talk of a robbery near the Quai aux Fleurs.  
This morning’s officers pass their vigil on.

The closed house: pistols, ambush at night.  
The open street: a widow taking the air.

Five hours breathing suspicion in the blue dark.  
And a sudden burning rush of snuff.


	2. Gavroche to Bahorel

Cursed name of a dog! That’s just the thing, dear brother  
in arms; I’ll learn Latin from you, then, and no other,  
and when to boil a pretty egg, and dash a dray right over,  
and keep the petty shopkeepers in a fine lather -  
O I’ve stomach enough, but I can like your pluck  
and join you in your stanchion soon enough.  
If I’d grown up it’s dearth or gallows  
since it’s amazing what the Church can swallow,  
but as it is, ignored by priest and politician,  
let’s lie together in the grave of all ambition,  
and raise a protest with the paving-stones  
a whistled song, a flag, a satire, and our brave bones:  
dear mother Paris is dressed up like Augustus’ Rome  
and père nor Pear won’t offer me a home


	3. Valjean before Arras

Become an honest man! Oh, Monseigneur,  
I’ve built a tomb of good works for my sins,  
and offered on my knees a Madeleine’s prayer.  
And God gives me powder and the firing pin  
to shoot down all I’ve done, and all that I could do.  
This crown of martyrdom has nineteen years of rust.  
I need do nothing. I cannot see this through.  
To sacrifice the town as well – and God is just!  
To wash away the sinner Jean Valjean  
and let him live again and love his fellow man  
only to bring that dead skin out again  
and dress him in it. This your master plan!  
Oh God, I’ll grip your trigger. I’d be ashamed:  
to harm an innocent, with my good aim.


End file.
